Arabesque No 1
by purpleuchiha
Summary: AU -After Sakura's one true love has died, how does she cope with reality? More importantly, how does she deal with his little brother?


_Hey again, everyone! This is my second fic posted to this site, and I'd like to say, I really don't know where this came from. I just sat down to write and it really poured out of me! I have a good idea of where I want this to go though, so... stay tuned!  
_ _Also, this will be rated T for now, although I'm not sure how far I'll take this in future chapters... so watch for mature themes!  
As always, reviews are very greatly appreciated. Enjoy!_

* * *

I am enveloped in white. I feel…foggy. And very warm. Cotton sheets wrap around me endlessly, nearly suffocating me. I wake up very, very slowly, not having any coherent thoughts except that I need to escape these hot sheets. I push myself away from their heat, though the cold air of my bedroom on my face does little to wake me up.

Sitting up, I stifle a yawn and stretch. I am experiencing a very general, dull ache in my head. A small part in the back of my mind wonders what time it is. So, I sit up, taking my time getting out of bed. I open my eyes, but squint immediately, my surroundings a little too bright for my tired eyes. I walk to the window on the opposite wall and pull the curtains apart.

It's a beautiful day outside. I can hear birds singing faintly, and the sun is shining, bright as ever. At the foot of my apartment complex, I can see some children playing on the asphalt with a bouncy ball. I vaguely think that the kids sure are waking up early these days.

With a start, I realize I can't see the sun, and that it must be right overhead. I turn around quickly to look at the clock situated above my bed. 11:49!?

My stomach drops as I fling myself to my closet and pull out my work uniform. _Shit, shit, shit. This is the third time I_ _'_ _ve slept in this week!_

I pull on tight black pants, hoping to god that I don't rip them, and hop over to the kitchen where I shove a bagel into the microwave. I groan. _If I_ _'_ _m late for work, Hatake_ _'_ _s going to kill me!_ Pulling the rest of my pants up, I sprint back to my room and tug on a white collared blouse. Spotting a hairbrush, I try to quickly untangle the mop that is my hair, almost squealing in pain. After, I brush my teeth as fast as humanly possible when I hear the bagel pop up with a ding. Grabbing my phone and purse, I run by the microwave, scooping the bagel up. I pull my shoes on and effectively dash out my apartment.

Halfway down the stairs, I realize I forgot to lock the door. Oh, well. I proceed to shove the bagel in my mouth.

Praying I don't trip as I literally soar down the flights of stairs, I check the time on my phone. _Cha! 11:56! That_ _'_ _s gotta be a record!_

I try to convince myself that I've run to work in less than 4 minutes before. Everything is a blur around me, and I try not to run into anyone on the busy street. _Come on, Sakura. You can do this._

I also try to convince myself that the intense stabbing sensation in my side isn't hurting me.

I realize I didn't even look in the mirror before leaving. Hopefully no customers complain about my appearance today.

My head is now pounding, and I still feel like I'm asleep, like maybe I'm just dreaming that I woke up late. No such luck.

I make it to the restaurant wheezing, but just in time. My manager, Hatake Kakashi, sees me sprint in just as the clock hits 12, and I swear I can see him growling at me under his mask. He's taking orders from a customer, but doesn't fail to shoot me a dirty look. Despite having waitressed here for the better part of 5 years, I have yet to be reprimanded by Kakashi for my late tendencies. Hey, it's not like he's never been late before. In fact, he's definitely the tardiest out of all of us.

I yell out my excuse at him and rush to the back room, clocking in and pulling my apron on. I hear someone tutting at me, and I turn to see my coworker and friend, Naruto. He's leaning on the wall, his shirt slightly crinkled underneath his apron. He thinks his constant dishevelled appearance classifies him as 'endearing'. I'm surprised he hasn't been written up for it yet.

"One of these days, Hatake's going to fire you for always sleeping in, Sakura-chan." Naruto says disapprovingly, although I can tell he's just mocking me. I smirk, and restrain myself from making a comment about his own appearance.

"Oh please." I boast. "Kakashi-sensei _loves_ me. He could never fire me."

Instead of giving me one of his usual cheeky retorts, Naruto's face just pales a bit as he looks behind me.

"I might, if you don't start taking orders from customers soon, Sakura- _chan_." Kakashi makes a point to say this quietly, but the effect is really quite frightening. "We are about to hit lunch rush, after all."

I nod very tensely, and exit the back room. I mutter an apology without turning around, grabbing a notepad while leaving. Kakashi sure can be scary when he tries to be. One of the pros of being a retired police officer, I guess.

I prepare myself for a long shift. Looking around, I appreciate how truly busy it is today. Almost every single table is filled, and the room is humming with the conversation of many people. I think back to when _Shiroi Kiba*_ was just a small, obscure café. I almost smile at the memory. It was so obscure, in fact, that we barely had room for three tables and the guests they almost never held.

I recall hearing years ago that Kakashi had just retired from a long, hard life of being a police officer when he had opened it in honour of his late father. I remember seeing Kakashi's advertisement for work, and, after applying there, I got hired just the next day. Getting along with him was nerve-wracking, at first, until I realized he was just a bit shy himself. Or socially unaware. I couldn't decide which one. But we hit it off pretty well, eventually. Now, I'm more or less used to his antics, although he still can very well scare me half to death every once in a while. He's just a softy, I know, and, although I've never told him this, he's really helped me a lot and I really don't know what I'd do without him. He's like a crazy dad. Or crazy older brother. Crazy, regardless.

Kakashi (and I, for that matter) had never dreamed that his crappy little restaurant would have such major success in a city such as Konoha. At first, it was just me, Kakashi, Naruto and a few other workers that upheld the restaurant. Thinking about those days is nostalgic; it was just our little family. It was how I got close with Naruto, and Itachi even worked there with us.

 _Itachi._ All of sudden, my fond recollections stop in their tracks. It feels as though a fog has surrounded my head and invaded my thoughts. I can't think about this now, I know. But thinking about those days, when we were all close, it consumes me. I feel like I'm going to fall, like I've been falling this whole time, faster and faster until-

"Come _on,_ Sakura-chan!" Naruto hits my shoulder lightly, snapping me out of my daydreams. "If you keep zoning out like that, Kakashi really is going to fire you! Let's work hard, ne?"

I can hear myself sighing in relief. Naruto must have a sixth sense for this kind of stuff; he always seems to know when there's something bothering other people, and he knows exactly how to diffuse the tension so nonchalantly.

Actually, I doubt that a little bit- he's too much of an idiot to be so perceptive. I shake the unease from my head, and I plaster a wide smile on my face. Ready or not, Kakashi's _will_ kill me if I'm less than perfectly lovely to his customers.

"You're right, Naruto. Let's work hard."

* * *

 _A/N- Shiroi Kiba means_ _'_ _White Fang_ _'_ _, like Hatake Sakumo, known as the White Fang of the Leaf._

* * *

6 hours later, I'm even more exhausted than I was when I first woke up. My shoulders ache, there's pain shooting through my temples, and, after a particularly rude customer, my brows are permanently furrowed.

In the past few hours, the restaurant has been gradually clearing out, and now, only about half of the tables are occupied. I'm relieved; the dinner rush is nowhere near as stressful as the lunch rush. I rub my temples, trying to ease some of the stress that's been accumulating in my head ever since I rushed to work this morning.

Naruto, however, looks carefree as ever; he's laughing with a customer like he doesn't have any worries. This is why he's kept this job as long as he has. Un-ironed shirts or not, Naruto has always been excellent with customers. I grumble a bit to myself at this, deeply bothered that someone as unprofessional as Naruto is capable of getting so many tips. I peer into my apron, and immediately regret it. My funds are greatly lacking, and I desperately need the tips I'm not getting.

C'est la vie, I guess. And, although I really don't want to think about how I'm going to pay my rent this month, I'm already in a bad mood, so I do anyways. I barely scraped by last month, and that's only because my dad was feeling generous and decided to help me out. Which almost never happens, because he's still upset with me for dropping out of college. Whatever. If he knew what I was going through, maybe he'd understand.

 _Sak, stop this._ I tell myself. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to linger on unfinished stuff. I don't want to think about the dark pit that I was in 2 years ago, and may or may not still be trying to get out of.

Damn. My therapist was right. I'm still in denial.

I argue with the voice in my head for a bit after this, and come to the conclusion that I really shouldn't linger on such depressing stuff. But I do anyways. And in the slightly emptier restaurant, while wiping a table down, I allow myself to think of Itachi.

—

Itachi was absolutely my best friend. He and I grew up together, and his family had always lived just across the street from us. Yeah, he was the typical 'boy next door'; but I really don't think that our story was that typical.

The Uchiha's were always around- Itachi, and at first, his younger brother, Sasuke. In reality, Sasuke and I were the same age, but he was always quite sickly, so during our childhood, Sasuke had lived in the mountains with his Aunt and Uncle. We got letters from him sometimes, sharing progress on his health, telling us the mountain air was making him breathe better. But he didn't move back permanently until later. We always thought he had gotten better a long time ago, but he was too scared to join us back in real life.

I almost feel bad—I never stopped to think of how Sasuke had to adjust when I was young.

So from early on, it was mainly just Itachi and I. He was only two years older than me, but he seemed so much older and wiser. He was never arrogant or made me uncomfortable; he was just always smarter than me and we had both long accepted that.

We were just always together, as kids. We always walked to school together, up until he went to high school. It never felt as though he was older; being around him was as natural as breathing.

In the 2 years we were together in high school, we had always been sweethearts. Even as a shy, awkward 13 year old, I knew how much I loved him. It was only natural that we would start dating. Nothing about it was weird, not even a bit. I was always so deliriously happy when I was around him. I never once doubted that I loved him, and he loved me. And we never even told our parents we were a couple. They just always knew.

I never knew how much he suffered, though. He was so talented, he could've done anything he wanted with his life. Math, science, you name it. But he chose music. He was a musician from birth. His mother used to tell me that he'd started playing piano at 3 years old. She'd sit him down and he'd just play melodies, no sheet music, no nothing. So they enrolled him in lessons. And he really blossomed. I mean, I remember going to competitions and watching him win the whole thing. I never had an ear for that kind of stuff; but man, when you heard Itachi play, you really felt something, you know? I wanted to crawl up beside him and just listen to him play forever.

That's the Itachi I fell in love with— the Itachi that could play any étude, any sonata, and finish looking so surprised at the sounds he himself could make. As a child, the way his fingers flew over the keys had fascinated me endlessly. I was so clumsy, so untalented next to him. But not once did he stray from my side. I used to think I was the luckiest girl in the world.

When we were young, his eyes would just always light up when he'd play me something— and, oh, how he'd play. Chopin, Bach, Debussy, anything. He loved it all. He was such a romantic player. You could tell he was in love, just by the way he played. Now, the song that's clearest to me is Debussy's _Arabesque No. 1._ A simple song, he'd tell me, but always his favourite.

As we got older, though, it became a real burden to him. He was always very ambitious— he had wanted to study music for the rest of his life. He always told me he'd wanted to be the best concert pianist this world had ever seen. He made it his whole life, you know? He gambled everything on music, on his ability to play piano. His hands, his fingers were most important to him. He wasn't allowed to do anything that could harm his hands. I only started worrying for him at the very end. By then it was too late. His eyes never looked the same when he played, he was just… empty. He needed to do better, he _had_ to do better, because of the competition.

In the end, he had broken his hand after punching a wall. He was so frustrated after a competition— his rival had almost just beaten him for first place. "I _need_ to be better! I _have_ to be better!" He couldn't face the possibility of not being the best. That's what being a child prodigy does to you. He was shaking and holding his hand, just crying in pain. I was there; I've never been so scared in my whole life. I didn't know what to do, what to say. Seeing Itachi like that… I couldn't believe my eyes. My calm Itachi had this intense rage inside him, and I had never known. He had never once shown me this imperfect side to him. I couldn't look at him the same afterwards.

He had fractured his right hand in 4 different places. There was no way he would ever play the same after that. It didn't matter much though. A few days later, we found his body hanging from a rope in his room. There wasn't even a suicide note.

My Itachi. I never wanted to remember him like that; the anger, the frustration, the utter weakness. But I did. That's the Itachi I never knew before, but the one I can't get out of my head now. I couldn't finish college after that, not that it quite mattered. I never had a passion like he did, never had something I felt drawn to. I had just picked majoring in business because it sounded really professional to me at 17.

Even now, two years after he died, the pain still feels exactly the same. I try to tell myself that I've come so far, that I'm improving, but I can't keep lying to myself. I am utterly stuck. It's pointless— I know better. I know that I've had the same job since starting college, and I still can't pay my rent, and god forbid I try to date again. It's absolutely torn me apart.

I hope Itachi's happy now. Truly and sincerely, I hope he's found peace with himself. I just wished music hadn't taken him away from me.

I remember the funeral like it was yesterday. I couldn't even cry. It was just a huge shock to me. I remember my own parents looking at me with such sorrow, I couldn't breathe. I remember what his mother was wearing. I remember that she cried through my speech. I can't remember what I said, though, but it doesn't matter. No matter what I said, it couldn't have conveyed my feelings even a little bit. Maybe if Itachi had wrote it, it would've helped me express myself. Maybe I wouldn't feel so lost for words if I had gotten it all out then.

Damn it. He was even good with words; that bastard really was so much better than me at everything.

I smile a little at this, suddenly remembering where I am. I realize that I've been scrubbing this same table for the better part of 15 minutes, and am getting some very strange looks from customers. I start hearing the opening triads from _Arabesque No. 1_ , and I think that maybe I've spent a little too much time reminiscing. I don't think it can be helped, though. All these pushed-down thoughts were bound to make a reappearance at some point.

Some more repressed thoughts of him threaten to come bubbling up, but I'm back to reality now, so I picture myself literally shoving them to the back of my mind. _There,_ I think. _I don't want to see you soon._

Life doesn't work this way, however. You can't just pretend not to know about your past, or what hurt you. You can't shove it to the back of your mind. They're always there. Sooner or later, you're going to have to deal with your demons.

 _Not today,_ I plead. _Just please, spare me for one day._

And, because life doesn't work this way, the person I least want to deal with right now walks into _Shiroi Kiba._

"…Sasuke?"


End file.
